For King & Country (28 page)

"I, King Masguic Clop ap Gergust of Elmet," the young man next to Gergust spoke up at once, "will also send men with those my father will raise from Ebrauc."

"As will I," the king of Ergyng agreed.

Every gaze in the room rested on Morgana. Brenna gulped nervously as Morgana composed herself to speak. "I, Morgana, daughter of King Gorlois, speak as sovereign queen of Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw. My sons, Prince Gwalchmai ap Lot Luwddoc and Prince Walgabedius ap Lot Luwddoc. With the death of my husband and the election of Ancelotis to the throne of Gododdin until my son Gwalchmai is of age, my responsibility lies with Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw.

"There are serious threats besides the Saxons, which must be considered by this council. Ynys Manaw is an island, very small and vulnerable to Irish invasion. Galwyddel's coast is but twenty miles from the coast of Eire and only a narrow portion of Strathclyde lies between Galwyddel's border and the Irish kingdom of Dalriada, another land which will certainly seek to spread its influence before long.

"Already, Irish raiders have struck the entire western coast of Britain, emboldened by the Irish
Scotti
clan's successes in Pictish territory. The Picts driven south have killed two of our kings in one week. And now we have insulted Cutha of Sussex, perhaps without meaning such a profound insult," she inclined her head toward Ancelotis in apology, "but the insult will be avenged, do not doubt this for one moment.

"But in our rush to strengthen defenses in the south, we must not forget the threats from the north and the west, as well. If we do not seek alliances to buy time, we will find ourselves fighting all-out war on three fronts, against three enemies, not even counting the raiders from Jutland and Frisia. With that threat added to the others, we find ourselves facing war from every cardinal point on the compass, with battles for survival on all four sides of this great island. I offer apologies to Cadorius, but Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw cannot spare the manpower to fortify Caer-Badonicus, when our own towns are in gravest danger of destruction. Not without seeking treaties of alliance to delay open hostilities long enough to deal with the Saxon threat."

The man next to Morgana spoke with deep bitterness. "I, Meurig ap Caradog, King of Glywssing, know the folly of alliance with pagan outsiders more than most. I rule the kingdom that Vortigern and his son Vortimer after him once ruled, a kingdom they held so cheaply they treated with Saxon swine and called them
foederati,
rather than the bandits and killers they are. I, for one, will tolerate no talk of alliance with godless heathens who look to our borders with greedy and bloodthirsty eyes. Glywssing faces threats from the Irish harassing our coast and from the Saxons, trying to push past our neighbors to the south. Which devil does Morgana ask that I crawl into bed with, to form this insane alliance of which she speaks?"

A roar of angry mutters, many of them directed at Meurig for the crudity of his question, erupted around the tables, throwing the council into chaos. Morgana turned to glare at Meurig ap Caradog. "I would sooner crawl into bed with a godless Irishman than some Britons in this room!"

The angry mutters exploded into violent arguments, women's shrill voices battling men's deeper ones. The thud of fists on wooden tabletops rattled like thunder in a canyon. Gwalchmai and Walgabedius huddled fearfully against Morgana's skirts, the younger boy whimpering aloud before she pulled them close. Artorius surged to his feet, drawing his sword to pound the tabletop with its hilt and shouted down the lot of them. "
Silence! By God, silence I say and silence I mean! I'll have the ears of the next man to say a bloody word!
"

The shouts died away, replaced by a shuffling of feet as Artorius glared from one table to the next. He growled, "Queen Morgana's fears are justified. I say this not as her stepbrother but as the Dux Bellorum who had to bring word of her husband's murder at the hands of Pictish bandits! Think you it was easy for Morgana to look into her sons' eyes and tell them why their father died? And in this same room stands a lad barely a man, who watched his royal father hacked to death by
another
lot of heathenish Picts. If Cutha and Aelle of Sussex and their minions of Wessex were the only threat we face, I would not have called a council of all the kings and queens of Britain! Morgana is right to say we face war on four fronts—for that is
exactly
what we face. If we do not exercise extreme care in the judgments we make this evening, all of Britain could bleed for our folly."

A few hangdog expressions replaced anger and strident rebelliousness. Ganhumara, delighting in the turmoil, looked like a well-fed kitten savoring the cream on her whiskers. Two seats down, Morgana's brother-in-law spoke into the momentary silence.

"I, Ancelotis of Gododdin, king until Prince Gwalchmai reaches his majority, speak for the people of Gododdin. We know only too painfully how serious the threat is from Pictish and Irish invaders along our northern borders. It was not my intention to draw the ire of the Saxons so quickly, but I am not convinced that anything would have prevented them from finding insult from some one of us, an insult that would give them an excuse to strike openly. What remains is for us to find a way to defend
all
our borders against
all
comers, when we have but limited numbers of men to do the fighting and run the patrols, not to mention bringing in the southern harvest. It might be less onerous than it first appears, to at least open negotiations with one of our northern enemies. We could then use those negotiations to buy the time we need, allowing us to shift resources without actually promising full alliance, since invasion on four fronts must be avoided at all cost."

Artorius did not appear pleased by Ancelotis' speech, but spoke no word of anger. He merely inclined his head slightly and said, "The Dux Bellorum thanks Gododdin for its concern over the severity of the problem before us."

A white-haired man whose deeply lined face betrayed years of worry and struggle said quietly, "I, King Ynwyl Gwent, speak for the people of Gwent. My son, Prince Caradog Freichfras, joins my worry that any alliance or even
talk
of such would weaken us in the eyes of the men we seek alliance with, making invasion more certain, not less. The Irish raid and the Picts strike in war bands, but the Saxons move in great armies, under the concerted direction of one powerful king. Aelle of Sussex is the most dangerous man in Britain and Cerdic of Wessex is the instrument he will use to strike at us.

"If we are to preserve Britain, we must deal with the Saxons
now,
and worry about Picts and Irish pirates at some later date. For those kingdoms under direct assault from the north and the west, I would not expect men or arms to be diverted from current emergencies, but for those of us whose kingdoms are not yet seriously threatened, we must provide men-at-arms and the swords and armor they will require, to stop the Saxons before they can march any great distance. To this end, I pledge every third fighting man of Gwent."

"And I, King Cadwallon Longhand of Gwynedd," the man beside him spoke immediately, "pledge the same. My son, Prince Gwyddno Garahnhir, will guard the borders of Gwynedd and organize the refortification of the hill forts. How speak the sub-kings of Gwynedd?" He turned to the men seated beside his son.

"I, King Elnaw ap Dogfael pledge a third of Dogfeiling's fighting strength."

"As do I, King Gwrin Farfdwch ap Cadwaladr of Meirionydd."

The next man spoke quietly. "I, King Owein White Tooth and my son Prince Cuneglasus speak for the Sub-Kingdom of Rhos. We plead hardship, for illness has struck hard in Rhos this harvest season, spread, I fear, by the same damp and moldering rot that has destroyed the southern hay and rye fields. Too many deaths have left our defenses ragged. I will send Cuneglasus with what men Rhos can spare, but that will be fewer than would please me."

Artorius, who had sheathed his sword once more, gave Owein a nod of understanding. "I cannot ask more than any kingdom is able to give. Send what you can and we must all be content with the best we can manage."

"I, King Aidon ap Mor of Rhufonios, can send aid to my brother sub-king of Rhos. We have many younger sons eager for work and too little land to subdivide it further amongst the heirs, as is the custom. Whether you need hands for the harvesting or the building of stone walls round your heights, Rhufonios can assist and still send seasoned warriors to the Dux Bellorum."

Owein clasped his neighbor's hand in gratitude. "We have many an orphaned heiress who will welcome young men of Rhufonios to work the land and take them to wife. Both our kingdoms will benefit."

"Well spoken," Emrys Myrddin gave the agreement a Druidic nod of approval.

The king of Lindsey pledged a third of his men to the cause of strengthening the southern borders, as did King Arthwys ap Mor of the Pennines, offering to send his son Prince Pabius in command of the sizeable force. The next man to speak, whose grey hair and deeply lined face spoke of age and strain, shared the same narrow, weasel-eyed face as King Idnerth, great-grandson of Vortigern. "I, King Concennus ap Vortimer and my son Prince Brochfael Ysgythrog speak for Powys and the kingdoms of the midlands. Powys has no borders that are threatened and will not contribute young men needed for the harvesting and the fishing to drive invaders from someone else's land."

A shocked and angry roar erupted as the aging king and his buck-toothed son took their seats. King Meirchion of Rheged snarled, "
I would expect no less than treason from a spawn of Vortigern!
"

"Treason, is it?" Concennus shot back. "There's no treason in protecting one's own interests! Powys is not threatened. Why should Powys bleed and die for the errors in judgement committed by fools in Glastenning or Strathclyde?"

Young Clinoch went ice pale and gripped the hilt of his dagger. "You will not insult my father's memory within the same week as his death, Concennus! Meet me steel to steel, like a man, if you intend slander!"

Another thunderous round of shouting erupted. Artorius was slamming the hilt of his sword against the tabletop again, roaring for order. Clinoch, shaking with rage, stood glaring at Concennus, who measured him lazily with a dismissive eye, compounding the insult. His buck-toothed son grinned at the young king, while paring his nails with his own knife, insulting everyone in the council chamber. Emrys Myrddin strode between the tables, passing the central hearth in a billow of white robes, and slammed an immense oaken staff between Clinoch and Meirchion on one side and Concennus and Brochfael on the other. The young prince of Powys had the grace to jump in startlement at the crash.

"
This is a council of kings,
" Myrddin hissed coldly, "
not a brawl between milk-brats!
Brochfael, you shame your father's name with your insolence. Put up that knife or leave this council under the geas of excommunication and end your days an outlaw cast out of Britain!"

The young prince glared at Myrddin, but quickly realized the threat was serious and that Myrddin would brook no refusal. He resheathed his knife with a sullen look.

"Concennus, you have the sovereign right to refuse succor to your brother kings. No one denies this. If you stand by that right, know that the geas will be laid upon you and all of Powys, as well. Expect no aid, no comfort, no assistance should
any
disaster befall you, whether it be famine, flood, plague, or invasion. A man who stands selfishly alone bleating of his rights when his brothers are dying can expect no aid when he, himself, is mortally wounded."

Concennus, older than Emrys Myrddin by at least twenty years, if not thirty, glared coldly at the Druidic councillor. "Powys is a large kingdom, advisor, and controls Caer-Gurican, Caer-Magnis, and Caer-Luit-Coyt as well, a stretch of land as great as Rheged. Famine or plague in one portion of the kingdom hardly threatens the whole. Your threats do not impress me."

Emrys Myrddin said softly, "Only a fool will permit wolves to ravage one flock simply because the other flocks are not yet threatened. Your kingship shames the Britons. Leave our meeting hall and do not darken Rheged's hospitality again with your reckless disregard of civilized manners and your failure to abide by prudent conduct in affairs touching the survival of every Briton man, woman, and squalling babe on this island!"

As Concennus jerked to his feet, anger crackling in his insolent and rheumy eyes, Clinoch muttered, "And may the Saxons rape you as you so richly deserve!"

Myrddin held out an imperious hand, forestalling further outbursts from the young king. Concennus had locked gazes with Myrddin, who stood immovable as a monolithic standing stone—and very nearly as tall—and gave back Concennus' curled lip of insolence as a withering, blue-eyed stare. At length, Concennus looked away and muttered, "Powys will send a hundred archers to the Dux Bellorum."

"Our thanks," Myrddin said scathingly, then retrieved his oaken staff and strode back to his place.

Brenna discovered that she was shaking. Even Morgana was shaken by the confrontation. Meirchion of Rheged straightened his tunic with a jerk and said, "Rheged sends half its fighting force south to the aid of Glastenning and Dumnonia."

Clinoch, whose turn was next, swallowed before he could find voice. "Strathclyde has troubles along its northern and western borders, beset as we are from the north by Picts and Irish from Dalriada and from the west by Irish pirates, across the Irish Sea. But Strathclyde is a large kingdom, greater in size even than Gododdin. Strathclyde will help Gododdin reinforce the northern boundary forts along the Antonine Wall and mount increased patrols along our borders with Dalriada. In addition to this, Strathclyde will send five hundred men-at-arms south, from the region bordering Galwyddel and Caer-Guendoleu and Bryneich, whose borders are secure, so there will be no danger to their farmholds and families if they are absent."

Brenna felt like cheering. The boy's concern for his people, in contrast to Concennus' utter disregard, was a well-deserved slap in the face which left Concennus flushed and angry. As Morgana had already spoken on behalf of Ynys Manaw, she did not rise to speak again. Artorius said quietly, "There is no one to speak for Ynys Weith, for the Saxons and their pawns of Wessex have overrun the island, murdering the entire royal family, and now control its harbors and its men.